Grains of sand
by El loopy
Summary: A few drabbles set during the movie from various points of view. 1. Courage, 2.Walking Temptation, 3.Charms, 4.The sea
1. Courage

Courage

_Oh by Apollo!_

Hector stared down at the lad before him, drowning in his own blood, and for the first time in a long while he felt physically sick.

He had fought this boy as if he were Achilles and he had killed him as if he were Achilles, but he was not yet dead.

Hector's breath caught as he realised what he had to do. It was too horrible, but better than letting the lad die the way he was.

With the bloodied chokes on his ears Hector reached for his sword – he had hesitated too long already- and plunged it into the young Grecian, killing him swiftly. A shudder wracked his body and he drew it out again.

That simple action had taken a different kind of courage from what he would need tomorrow, because tomorrow he knew he would have to walk out boldly to meet his death.

The fateful words rung in his head,

"It was his cousin."

Hector knew that he had only one day left to live.


	2. Walking Temptation

Walking Temptation

Yes, she was beautiful, she was very beautiful and he did desire her. What man didn't?

The difference between himself and Paris was that he was deeply in love with Andromache, and nothing would induce him to act on any sudden surge of feeling towards the blonde nymph.

So he had watched instead as his brother had wooed the Queen. He had stood silently on guard lest Paris be discovered, unknown to the court and unknown to his little brother.

In all honesty he'd been glad to see the back of that coastline…and then she's appeared on the ship. The woman was walking temptation itself and she was following him.

Back in Troy she was his brother's and that made her his sister.

He had to catch her as she tried to run and hold her still and return her to his brother. The whole time he had to restrain himself from kissing her. She loved his brother and he loved his wife. Hector did not fool himself. He did not love Helen. His feelings towards her were no more than the physical attraction every man felt in her presence.

The relationship Hector shared with Helen was that of an elder brother to his sibling's lover. He always advised her towards what was best for Paris and she followed it absolutely. She knew how much the two brothers loved one another.

So when Hector prepared to step out to his death and he turned and saw her watching him silently, something passed between them.

His eyes reflected the knowledge that he knew he was going to die but he was going to fight like a warrior.

She stood there, wreathed in gold and sunlight, pale and beautiful like a goddess and she knew that this was all her fault.

It was because of her that Paris would lose his best loved brother, Andromache would lose her beloved husband, Priam his son and heir and the baby a much needed father.

'_So then look after them for me,'_ he told her silently. Helen bowed her head, guilt and shame fused into her body.

'_I'm so sorry,' _came her reply.

As the doors of Troy slammed shut on their Prince she returned to Andromache to strengthen her for what was to come.


	3. Charms

Charms

A secret meeting as furtive as if they were two secret lovers snatching moments between battles, but of course it had been nothing of the sort when Andromache had grasped Helen's pale, slender arm and propelled her through the corridors of the palace.

Night had fallen so the darkened way was lit by smoky burning torches that smelt acrid and stung Helen's eyes.

"Andromache please!" Helen begged as her sandaled feet hit the cool marble, "What is this about?"

Andromache stopped abruptly in a corner and turned to her younger companion.

"It is important that the men do not hear us," she whispered to the Trojan beauty and taking something out of her pocket she pressed it into the younger woman's hand.

Helen lifted the strange thing to the torch light and examined it.

"A charm?"

"It is to aid fertility," Andromache explained. Her eyes were wide and urgent, her voice hurried, as if desperate to make Helen understand. "Each day our men fight and dance with death, you may lose Paris any day, may Apollo protect him, as I may lose my Hector." At the thought Andromache's eyes shone with unshed tears. "But I have our son to aid me in my grief. Raising him has diverted me while Hector was away." She smiled weakly. "So knowing this I wish to provide you with the aid of a similar comfort should the worst happen."

Understanding quickly dawned on Helen's face as she squeezed the charm tightly and nodded.

"Thank you," she whispered gratefully, "you are a true sister."

Andromache kissed Helen on the cheek and whispered gently in her ear.

"Now got to him as I go to Hector and I will pray to the goddess of fertility for your success."

The two women exchanged their goodbyes and melted into the night.


	4. The sea

The Sea

The gentle hiss of the waves out in the inky darkness were whispering words of soothing comfort to the girl curled up on the waters edge, knees clasped to her chin, hair a tangled mess, but she heard none of it. Her eyes were wide, and rimmed in red, cheeks wet with the union of two salt waters. Her mind was focused on a different darkness to the one her gaze was fixated on. Death hovered in her mind as she heard the desperate cries of her cousin, wandering lost beside the River Styx, desperately wanting to embark but having nothing to pay with. Her heart wrenched again and tears spilled, wetting her skin afresh.

Hands dug into soft sand on this beach of death, sand soaked in the blood of her people. It seemed to seep through any skin that touched it until she was covered in red, marked out as a failure. She had given up her vow to Apollo for the body of a man professed to be her enemy. Surely Apollo would not be angry with her if through her relationship with Achilles she could prevent more deaths. Yet it was all in vain. She was a betrayer, sharing the bed of her cousin's murdered. The thought should have repulsed her, but instead she found her heart beating a little faster at the memory of the two of them together, his hands and body gliding over her; the mighty warrior suddenly incredibly gentle.

Nausea threatened to overwhelm her at her own complete lack of hatred towards her lover. What he had done was violating every tradition. Any human emotion of compassion was shredded in him and yet her body ached for him. She longed to comfort him, to bring him to her and draw out that venerable side. She knew his pain at his cousin's death, the heartache at losing someone like a son to him. Yet he shut her out and a wall stronger than those of Troy came between them.

'_He's here' came the whisper. 'He's here'._

In a sudden rush of loneliness Braiseas wanted to go home, back behind the besieged walls of Troy, back where she could be loyal only to her people and wasn't torn two ways.

'_He's here. It's time to go.'_

It was with this in mind that she turned to walk back to Achilles' tent. Her body felt heavy as she struggled to figure out what to say to him.

She saw Achilles first in the light thrown by a single torch, some furtive activity was occurring and his eyes were over bright, like he had wept. In the confusion this threw in her mind she did not see the other figure, until he turned around and she was confronted by someone she had so desperately wanted to see only moments before.


End file.
